Yes, here I am;  I can’t help myself; I have to write. 

Three years ago, nearly to the minute, my beloved husband’s body was taken from his home although his soul left several hours earlier. I saw his remarkably handsome face for the final time  

Not a single day since has passed that I’ve not missed him and yes, even now, I’m still in love with him. The void he left is massive, and my life has never been the same. 

I’m still here—three years ago I wasn’t sure I would be and at that time, I didn’t want to be. I just wanted to be with him. How could I possibly continue without him in my life? But I have continued, no matter how much I’ve stumbled, crawled, bawled, pulled my covers over my head, lashed out, questioned, and smiled to hide my anguish. 

Thankfully, he still delivers feathers on a daily basis and lately, pennies, lots and lots of pennies (cue music, “Pennies From Heaven”). The most recent penny was from 2021, the first I’ve seen. I’m hoping his message with this particular penny is that 2021 will be better (for us all!). Feathers and pennies will always be signs for me until I, too, leave this earth  

He’d undoubtedly be proud of me  I’ve carried on with as much dignity and grace as I can muster. He still cheers me on from the sidelines, especially when my dignity and grace are in short supply. 

Regardless, even three years later, I struggle to settle in to a world without him. Nothing is as it was, nor will it ever be.  Accepting the finality constantly tears at my seams.

Again, I’m fully aware of the “she’s got to move on” crowd, people who, sadly, don’t understand the depth of loss. I would remind those people that my goal is to move forward—but not move on—and that, I’ve done...quite well, I think.

Has this experience changed me? I’m definitely not the same person I used to be, and this labor of rebirth has been daunting at best, but I pray it’s made me better, molded me into a better version of my past self. I pray I’m kinder, more empathetic, less judgmental, more forgiving, more compassionate. 

The weeks leading up to today came with a sense of foreboding. The Ides of March began  appearing, even as early as the holidays, with a pit in my stomach and a heartbeat a bit faster than usual. 

And here they are. I will move through today more easily than last year and the year before. I’ve considered how to honor him today, but I’ve no grand or sacred plans. Perhaps, I’ll have lunch at one of his favorite spots. Perhaps, I’ll hold his ashes and cry. Perhaps I’ll read the words I spoke at his funeral and study the stunning book Mary made of him. What I know for sure is that stepping into the day with my heart full is the best way to preserve his memory.

Yesterday, I took flowers to his mother. I’ve not seen her much since he passed (and blessedly, Ernesto offered to go with me). My heart has been hard, and forgiveness has not come as readily as it normally does, so going there was a major step. I try to remember that she lost her son too. 

We cried together, and she showed me the pictures of him she keeps on the table next to her chair. I told Ernesto to push me toward mending this relationship. I’m trying to keep in mind that she is also a victim of her past, and that without her there wouldn’t have been an Ernie. 

Two days ago, Dahlia and Lili visited (Ilse was with her uncle). Oh, how he loved  and cherished his baby girls! He’d be so proud of them  Dahlia, who tends more toward shyness, was particularly vocal. She saw a cd cover picturing an old house, and she remarked that it seemed abandoned—such a big and very descriptive word for a kindergartner!

Then she wanted to talk about Tata’s ashes, where they are, what color they are, and if I’d seen them. Finally, she said, “Nana, I see Tata’s ashes and pictures, but I really want to see him in person!” My heart ached  for her and Lili and Ilse. 

So here we are. Living as best we can without seeing in person this man who was so full of contradictions, layers, surprises, and love. So, so much love.